


it ain't brutal

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Crying, Gen, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8804428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Sometimes, Charles learned, paying a therapist wasn't fast enough.(How Dethklok cries. Post-Black Fire, Pre-Doomstar.)





	

Sometimes therapy was inconvenient. Sometimes it'd get in the way of things, like recording or interviews. Sometimes it'd be easier for him to dry the tears himself.

He hadn't cried publicly in years, that Charles Offdensen. In fact, he hardly ever even did so privately, unless the workload became so frustrating that he had no choice but to fall into quiet bouts of weeping by himself. Even then, he kept the door shut, and did so in near silence. (This was only once in a blue moon. In fact, he hadn't done even that in a year, give or take.) 

Being emotionless just came naturally to him.

His clients, though? Not so much.

Toki was the most honest. If something didn't go his way, he'd throw a fit in earnest. If he got hurt, he'd cry. He'd cling to his bandmates, and they'd turn him away. Usually it was trivial things. Things like losing small objects, or being slightly reprimanded. He was also much more emotionally varied, Charles found. If he was mad, he'd get angry. If he was sad, or hurt, he'd show it. And regardless, he'd cry as loud as he wanted, depending on whether he wanted people to hear him.

Of course, that wasn't to say Toki Wartooth wasn't still an emotionally constipated wreck like the rest of them. 

He certainly wasn't above loudly insisting he was fine when he clearly wasn't. Charles knew that, more than anything, Toki wanted to support the rest of the band. However, when the support beam breaks, the whole building will fall. Though nobody really relied on Toki for support, he believed they did, and tried his damnest to keep from hurting anyone by being hurt.

But he'd pour his heart out to Charles, sure. He'd wail and use full boxes of tissues. He was very easily influenced by others, moreso than they were by him. So if he saw someone else hurt or sad, he'd go in that direction, and then further. He didn't like being harshly reprimanded, which the rest of the band was guilty of doing, and had been banned from drinking away his problems due to past issues. Though, if the going got too tough, he'd go into his "punishment hole" and cut off from the rest of the world. (At that point, Charles would just call up Twinkletits and let things take their course.)

Just like his emotions, his cries were always different. Sometimes soft whines and sometimes messy, painful, broken screeches. But usually he'd prefer to just bury his face in his hands and wait for the pain to pass.

Skwisgaar was an alternate beast. He didn't cry, or so he said. But Charles knew. Sometimes, walking by the door, he'd hear faint, deep whimpers. Crying. Clearly. Sometimes he'd answer the door with makeup still running down his face.

Of course it was Charles' duty to ask what was wrong. Usually he'd get answers along the lines of "Nothin's" or "Nones your business" before Skwisgaar would slam the door. Then he'd knock again. It was practically routine. Once again, the guitarist would answer, grunting that Charles would never leave him alone before letting him in. And, of course, he'd direct the conversation towards getting his guitar parts recorded or, perhaps, going over Murderface's bass track, then quickly realizing Charles wasn't dumb enough to forget the tear tracks on his face.

Usually the issue was something trivial. Just Skwisgaar having a bad day. Sometimes he'd get in verbal fights and leave with his ego completely crushed. Sometimes he just needed acknowledgement, to be told he was important.

Though, that was all just stuff Charles knew. Nothing that Skwisgaar would ever admit. He just knew what Skwisgaar wanted to hear. He KNEW.

Besides, one time he figured out that Skwisgaar was crying much too late, and he came out the next day refusing to hold an elongated conversation. Thankfully it passed, but Charles still felt like he had done his job very, very wrong.

The bassist was a fickle creature. Emotionally clogged up like a drain pipe full of hair, once in awhile deceiving expectations and doing something completely different. Other times, assumptions would be correct about him. William Murderface was a damn mess. Everyone knew he was. From the razor scars on his arms to the perpetually surly expression on his face. Perhaps, he was the one Charles feared the most for of them all.

Usually the catalyst to William's negative moods were blatant. He was a self-hating wreck, couldn't take insults or failure. The day after his failed Christmas special, Charles checked on him first thing in the morning, and the days afterwards. He only showed up a week later and acted like nothing was wrong.

He'd scream and shout and complain until realizing Charles wouldn't leave him alone. And Charles would ask what was wrong, and William would just mumble and whine. 

He tended to bottle himself up until a crescendo, and when William broke, he broke hard. One time, in a meeting, Nathan commented that William still had to record his bass parts, only to be interrupted by screeching, cracked wails as William tipped his chair over and ran away.

Frankly, Toki was better at sponging his issues than Charles would ever be. Peering through a crack in his door, sometimes, he'd see William hunched over with his face buried in Toki's chest, all sound muffled by his shirt, or sometimes with Toki's fingers in his hair as he faced away, chubby jowls wrinkled and forehead pushed towards his nose. Of course, it was almost always mixed with William blubbering through his quivering lips, "Schtop carin' about me, it ain't brutal!"

"His face always gets red," Toki would say, "he looks hurt, like a sads little kitty. Sos I wants him to knows he's important."

(Charles always wondered who would tell Toki he was important when the going got tough. Inevitably, that was HIS job.)

Pickles was an angry crier. He'd throw fits, he was almost infamous for it. Breaking lamps was his most common solution for his rage, but sometimes he'd also injure his other bandmates, only to realize his crime and apologize wholeheartedly until he was wronged again. 

But his most well-known habit was busting furniture. Charles wouldn't question him. If he did, usually he'd be responded to with aggressive swearing, until Pickles ran out of energy, and curled up into a ball, weeping into his knees. It'd end that way regardless, but Charles preferred to stay out of the damage zone until things died down. He'd throw a blanket over the shaking man and leave him alone for awhile.

He was always red-faced. Never had enough breath.

Nathan was the only one really able to bring him out of that state, and it was only when he felt like it. He'd throw up his hands, as though approaching a nervous animal, saying, "Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you". Through seemingly endless tears, Pickles would always blame it on someone else. Then Nathan would carry him away like a football and Charles wouldn't hear a word about it when things quieted down, which was for the best.

Really, Pickles would throw a tantrum about everything and anything. Anywhere from lack of booze to lack of sleep to a familial issue, and all that came in-between and after. It had gotten to the point where, honestly, letting him drink the trouble away was safer than letting him deal with his emotions.

In reality, Charles couldn't deal with it. He wasn't equipped to.

The only one he was equipped to deal with was Nathan.

For starters, Nathan rarely showed any sort of emotion to anyone. He didn't like it. He wasn't an open book, and had no predictability, but generally Charles didn't need to worry about him emotionally. Sure, he was dumb, but not a mental wreck all the time like his bandmates.

The first time Charles had even seen Nathan cry was when he didn't get his G.E.D. (It turned out the whole thing was the fault of his cohorts who got him drunk.) He was sitting on the toilet, fully-clothed, with the door half open, face buried in his frankly monstrous hands and back hunched over. All of that hair cascading over his body made him look near-inhuman, which Charles supposed, was what made him so famous and loved to begin with.

"Well. Uh, what's the matter."

He shot up, his eyes puffy and red, incapable of working together an answer.

"...Man, I'm stupid."

"No, no, you're not stupid, you're just..."

Fresh tears fell down his wrinkled, nervous face. "...A different kind of intelligence."

"No, I'm not!" He yelled. It wasn't threatening, it was actually kind of painful. "I'm a fucking moron, okay?! Get out of here!"

"Come on." Charles sighed. He wasn't cut out for this. "Regardless of how intelligent you are, the band needs you. Okay?"

"No, they don't."

"You're the lead singer, yes, they do."

"But I'm stupid." He wiped his eyes. The skin around them looked irritated. Charles offered him a handkerchief. "...Cryin' like a bitch in front of my manager..."

"It's fine. Uh, I deal with this... at least once a week."

"Pff. Besides Toki and Pickles? And they both have an excuse. Toki's a weenie and Pickles is a drunk. Where's my excuse?"

"I mean... Skwisgaar does it. Murderface does it."

"...Seriously?"

"Yes. You're not alone." Charles sighed, backing away from the bathroom door. "Take your time in there. Get it out of your system."

"You won't tell anybody?"

"No, I won't."

That was also the first time he'd seen Nathan smile.


End file.
